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My City

Looking back at my city, The image of a beautiful lass Struggling awkwardly with slippery fork and knife, In the newly unleashed Pizza Corner, Often tugs at me, She would be off to Mumbai next month, And post-marriage-she would give no complaints to her husband to be Often those drab,tedious nights haunt me

While I confront my city, Then restless steps could hear their ghostly echo On those endless,dark roads, In the midst of vagrant dogs raising cacophonous din, Through those dreary, mundane days, Those carefree ,dust-laden kids thinking nothing of their mothers’ meticulous care to turn them into little princes, In those narrow alleys, where even a mere Rickshaw-puller would outstretch his arms to deny passage, Insisting on a few paise more, In that city of mine, Where anonymity would melt into intimacy, And an intimate smile penetrate the shield of privacy, Where the balmy breeze would caress you as if, She were crooning your very name

That newly arrived country girl, Who had almost effortlessly taken to jeans-skirt, But bindi on her forehead being a concession to the obstinacy of the past, And that mellifluous rhythm of dialect, That still clasps me in loving embrace, As if I had never turned my back on it In this maddening city Of labyrinthine delusions, Or nights shimmering in tinsel glitter, A scintilla of intimacy catches me unawares

In the race to the bottom My memories would guard me Against the frightening inhuman behavior